


Keep the fun backstage.

by Cinnamon_Girl



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Epic Bromance, Epic Friendship, Humor, Maaaaany more relationships to be added, Mentions of Cancer, Multi, Slice of Life, Smoking, Stripper AU, all around !!!, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 13:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10537575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamon_Girl/pseuds/Cinnamon_Girl
Summary: The doors to the Dark Side are never fully closed.(Based on Darth Videtur's verse. A soon-to-be collab.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Come to the Dark Side!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9137485) by [Darth_Videtur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Videtur/pseuds/Darth_Videtur). 



> ..........................
> 
> Since Im kinda to blame for this, might as well assume my responsablities......

 

 

 

 

The paper slid on the faux-marble of the counter and Asajj eyed it quizzically.

 

The space smelled strongly of recent cleaning, the opening being due in about three hours. She used to hate the smell -too clean meant that it was not to be trusted or that it would hurt- but now she welcomed it with deep intake of detergent-saturated air, for soon it would be replaced by the sour smell of sweat and excitement.

An excitement she didn't have the luxury to take part in. Not anymore.

 

“What now ?” she sighed, taking the hastily teared out paper between her slender fingers.

“Go over the stock. Quickly. I need you to make these tonight.”

 

Dooku had his hazel gaze on his phone, typing with his thumb only while his right hand and its several rings rested on the bar.

“New cocktails ?” She went over the list of drinks. Twice. Her bewilderment rising each time. Finally, she slammed it back down. “You're telling me this _now_ ?!”

“If anything's missing. Just say it.”

“Yeah right. Look at me.”

 

He did, turning his head with a theatrical flaring of his nose to indicate his clear annoyance at her being difficult.

“ _I._ (She shook the list in front of his face.) Don't know how to make _half_ of these.”

“Well then you better start earning your paycheck my dear.” he deadpanned, unfazed. “That's the last of my problems at the moment.”

“What's so special tonight ?”

 

He checked his phone once again, frowning at something on his screen before finally putting it away into his jeans' pocket. “We didn't switch the menu on Friday like usual. We're switching now.”

“Couldn't you, I don't know, _warn me sooner_ _?!_ ”

He freed his wrist from his sleeve with a sharp tug, exposing his watch. “You have two hours. And a half. Now get going, Calli's not coming tonight and we have to shift the routines.”

“Huh. A shame you don't have anyone to replace her...”

 

He was already walking away when something in her tone made him stop, close his eyes and spin on his heels, a dry smile floating on his lips like the smoke of the cigars he had taken a habit of smoking.

(He hadn't had one in a while. It showed, she noticed, in the tapping of his foot when he stood before her and she was leaning on the counter, a hand against her still-growing-back hair.)

 

“We're not talking about this.”

“You know I can do it. It's been two months--...”

“You're still not off meds. I said : until you're completely out of this mess, it's a no.”

She threw her hands up. “ _Gods above_  old man ! I'm not stuck in a hospital bed anymore ! You can't treat me like your daughter all the damn time !”

 

He planted his palms, suddenly, on the cold and flat surface to look at her, hard.

His glare held the weight of his age and she felt all too well just how small she was next to him.

“In _here_ , under _this_ roof, you are _all_ my children.”

 

Truly, he was the only person she knew who could make a declaration of care and love sounds as threatening. Asajj gulped.

But she stood her ground.

“Even Vosa…?”

 

(She regretted it immediately, yet it felt good.)

 

He slid the list to her, again. His jaw was clenched.

 

“Get to work.”

 

She bit her lower lip and took it, not giving him as much as another glance as she turned to her bottles and her glasses and the little space she had been cast out to.

 

Dooku stared, as if to make sure she was indeed listening this time, then moved away.

 

He patted the pockets of his vest on his way out, finding them empty, and spotted the very recognizable figure of Maul in front of the exit door.

The Zabrak had his arms crossed over his strong chest, wearing the form-fitting black shirt he always came to work with, and was talking to Savage who seemed certainly amused by whatever his little brother was saying.

 

“Where's Sheelal ?” The manager asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Missed his train, sir.” Savage said. He had straightened when his employer came in, but only succeeded in making his imposing stature more awkward in the narrow corridor. “He'll be there.”

“He better be…” Dooku grumbled, now searching through the inside of his vest. “What, he has to fly over every weekend now ?”

 

Qymaen Sheelal was the second bouncer of the club, in duet with the older Dathomiri. A Kaleesh with a ridiculously crowded family, he wasn't so large as he knew how to be intimidating when he needed to be, thus getting the job done.

 

“A wedding, apparently. His sister.” Savage said.

“ _Wonderful_ … Maul, do you--…?”

The dancer shrugged, giving one of those roguish smirks only carnivores shared as he showed his tattooed arm and displayed the two nicotine patches underneath.

“I dropped two weeks ago.” he announced rather proudly. “Damask's outside.”

“You're first to go tonight.”

“ _Because I don't have a ciggie for you ?!_ ”

 

What was it with people from Dathomir yelling at him today ? “ _No_.” Dooku sighed. “Because that's how the schedule rolls, my boy.”

He heard a muffled grunt of _“Why always me...”_ and Savage's deep chuckle before closing the door to the inside world.

 

The Plague was smoking against the wall, one feet up on the concrete.

Only it was just Hego Damask, with reading glasses in equilibrium upon his flat nose and a notebook in one hand.

 

“Tell me you still have one...” the Human said, rubbing his temples.

Wordlessly and without looking, the Muun fished into his coat and handed out a single cigarette, which his colleague gladly took.

 

“Such a weak spirit you have.” Hego teased, and Yan Dooku eyed him over the flame of his lighter.

“Says the one who has been saying he'll quit for five years now. I'm merely starting.”

“Soon weak lungs too, then.”

“Don't get biological on me, please.”

 

They remained silent for a while, a soft breeze bringing the many scents of the city towards them as Yan blew out volutes matching his hair in their grayish hues.

A quick glance at Damask's notes told him what had the dancer focusing so much. He recognized observations and schematics, written so quickly and in letters so tiny he could barely discern words.

 

“Still trying ?”

“I don't know what you mean.” Hego said, yet still closed his book, sharply.

“College. Did you apply again ?”

He huffed. “Sure. I would love to work in a place where I am nothing but unwelcomed. Sounds lovely if you ask me.”

Dooku didn't press the subject, drawing on his cigarette.

 

It was the Muun who decided to appease his lingering curiosity : “I give private classes.”

Yan slowly turned his head to him with something of a long-suffering look. He elected to ignore it.

“Sometimes. To desperate students, if you want to know. You wouldn't believe how dull science has become--”

“Do you _really_ have time for that…?”

“Doesn't seem to bother Nome.”

 

The manager caught the opportunity to change the subject. “He won't come, by the way. Not tonight.”

The only reaction Damask gave was a blunt “Tragic.”

“You don't care.”

“Stars, you're perceptive today. Now if you don't have any other understatements...”

 

The Human let his stub fall to the ground, crushing it under his shoe as Hego moved past him to reach the door.

“In _fact_ , I have a question.”

Clearly, the dancer was considering acting like he hadn't heard anything and simply leaving there and now. That's what he always did.

 

Something him and his master had in common.

 

“Was it worth it ?”

 

Deep-set, eclipse-like eyes stared at him, waiting.

He took a deep breath. “The boy. Is he worth it ?”

 

Hego's gaze shifted to the side. “Yes...” Then, again, with more confidence : “Yes.”

Dooku frowned. “You're gambling.”

“Maybe. (He straightened his neck in a gesture reminding of an offended crane.) What if I am ?”

“You never gamble.”

“Only when the odds are in my favor.”

“Still not gambling.”

 

Again with that carnivorous grin -though how strange to see it on the face of a vegetarian, the Human noted-, and the eyes narrowing into amused slits.

“Good day to you, Yan.”

 

“You're second to last today !” he managed to shout, right before the door closed for good. He shook his head.

He didn't lie to Ventress.

Surrounded by children, that's what he was.

 

He took out his phone, first to check his messages, then to write one. He was hitting Send when the swift hum of a bike invaded the back alley.

 

It stopped a few meters away from him, two men riding, and the one sitting behind was quick to take off his helmet and ruffle his bleached hair into place.

“Thanks man.” Kinman said, giving a light and friendly tap on his driver's shoulder before hoping off.

“It was an act of pity,” replied the soft baritone of Palpatine behind the one-way visor. “You looked miserable walking alone.”

“Or, you know, you can just admit you like me.”

“One ride and you're already getting your hopes up ?”

Doriana laughed. “I'm a sentimentalist at heart.”

 

The two friends made their way to the club, the nicknamed King not bothering with removing his own helmet while the announcer was carrying his under his arm.

“ _'Evening_ , my good sir !” he greeted his employer, who had his attention on Palpatine. “It's funny, I wanted to tell you something about my pay--”

“Get in there. Schedule's on the panel.” the manager drily interrupted, having enough of hearing nothing but whining for the day.

“--or that works too, thank you very much.”

 

Kinman hurried in, briefly saluting before disappearing, and Sheev was left alone.

 

“You'll be first to go with Maul. That little monster better stop complaining afterward.” Dooku said, and the youth nodded.

 

He couldn't see it.

The longer he looked -and he was looking a good deal-, he still couldn't see it.

What this boy had, what he held. It was as if there was nothing but closed steel behind that thin freckled skin.

Damask never said where he had found him, never said how either, but that wasn't what was bothering him, not truly.

 

What was unnerving was knowing that this elvish creature of a boy had a power, an _influence_ beyond comprehension and  _he_ couldn't see it.

 

But he could _feel_ it. All too well.

The fairytale face that he always hid and masked, be it behind a motorbike helmet, veiling ginger locks, thick black kohl or glitter gold.

Hego's gambling.

 

He blinked, shifted on his legs.

“We're gathering tonight. Meet us once you're done.”

 

Palpatine didn't respond, merely adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder and walked away.

 

Inside, Dooku could hear the callings and uncoilings of the Dark Side piecing itself together.

 

His phone whistled, he turned it over in his hand.

 _Another day, another night,_ Qui Gon wrote.

 

 

Soon, he'll need another cigarette...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
